


In the Fog

by icashedin



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Romance, Blow Jobs, Flashbacks, Light Smut, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Paranormal, Power Dynamics, Therapy, Unrequited Love, everyone is a mess, non-canon, seth is an eternal mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icashedin/pseuds/icashedin
Summary: From the darkness of Seth's mind, something rises.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Kevin Owens | Kevin Steen & Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Seth Rollins | Tyler Black/Triple H
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

A light breeze flits through the second-hand vintage shop as Seth flips through old vinyls. His broad shoulders roll forward. The sudden chill reminds him of Dean’s pungent breath and cold stares from the past few nights. Seth snorts. The word ‘friend’ emblazoned like a patch to the corner of his mind. He gazes down. While absorbed in thought, he was stroking a couple fingers along the edges of the same album. His eyes scan the cover: ratted hair, pleated leather, and overly-confident snarling faces. Seth quietly chuckles. Not his first choice, but for some reason, he picks it up. He looks the record over. _Great condition_ , Seth thinks, _you’re coming home with me_.

The apartment is eerily silent like a reality show on mute. Seth is accustomed to the sound of the door echoing shut behind him. Dean works. Dean goes out. But Dean rarely comes home.

He shakes his head, trying to unroot the image that lands there. Any thought of Dean, out or even at work, is like throwing grenades inside of his mind. Even an inadvertent thought of Roman is enough to make Seth internally combust.

“Roman,” Seth’s lip curls upward as he flicks on the kitchen light, “is just my _friend_.”

Seth presses two fingers to each temple and rubs vigorously. Five weeks ago, he went to visit Dean at work. A surprise visit including a container of spaghetti and a flask of whiskey in his jacket pocket. Seth bounced in the elevator, excited to watch Dean’s eyes light up as he walked in. But he found his boyfriend’s desk empty. He waited an hour for Dean. His anxiety making him feel as limp and useless as the lunch in his hand.  
A burst of laughter boomed through the elevator doors as two men maneuvered through. All jokes. All smiles. All familiar. Seth crouched and backed away from Dean’s desk. He watched his boyfriend fist bump this strange man. A man Dean never talked about at home. Before he was spotted, Seth pivoted around the desk next to Dean’s and scurried out of the office.

The fridge offers no comfort, only leftovers. Seth stares at the unappetizing meatloaf as it slides to the bottom of the container. His lips press together forming a tight thin pale pink line. The fight from the night before beginning to replay in front of him.

_“It’s late…” Dean trails off.  
Seth wraps an arm around Dean’s tapered waist.  
“But I need you,” Seth husks._

_Dean tries to unlatch Seth’s arm.  
“Nah, I need some sleep."  
Seth’s arm snaps back to his side with the same intensity as a scolded child, “Don’t you ever want me anymore?”  
The pitch of his voice has risen by several octaves.  
Dean reaches back and rubs his neck, “Can we talk later?”  
“Later for me but never for him, huh?” Seth spits.  
Dean’s eyes narrow, “Fuckin’ drop it”, he says through gritted teeth.  
Turing on his heels, Dean leaves as Seth stands in the kitchen alone: slumped shoulders, and red-faced, and unsatisfied once again._

Seth’s jarred back by the buzzing of his phone.  
Dean: _Drinks. Dont wait up._

Seth doesn’t bother responding. It’s as if last night didn’t happen. _Talk about it later but you’re never home so…when’s later_ , Seth wonders. He forgave the first couple nights. Even the first couple of weeks. But now it’s been a couple of months and he doesn’t deserve what Dean is putting him through. He’s beginning to forget what Dean sounds like saying his name. The taste of Dean lingering in his mouth. How Dean feels inside of him. In the moments he’s able to be honest with himself, it’s more about the fear that Dean now belongs to someone else. He says Roman’s name. He has the taste of Roman lingering in his mouth. He likes the feel of Roman inside of him.

Seth slams the fridge door shut causing a magnet to fall to the floor. He stomps to his hide-out, the guest room. Some days he can’t find enough to fill the space left by Dean’s absence. _I didn’t ask to be put on leave_ , he reminds himself, _and once the incident dies down…_  
Seth stares at the shelf holding the records he’s accumulated over the years. Nothing calls out to him. Next to the shelf sits a record player that Dean bought him for his birthday two years ago.

_“Why have all these an’ not listen?”_

_Seth beamed and listened to music for the rest of the day._

_But that was then and the Dean now is always busy_ , Seth thinks as he settles on silence. Then he remembers his new haul he left sitting in the living room.

His eyes fall on the obscure rock album again. An urge to play it surges through him. He carefully puts the record down and lays the needle on top of it. He flings himself on top of an old black and white futon, dragged along from his college days. His body relaxes into the grooves and creases. His eyes flutter. The slow fight against the heavy lead feeling of sleep taking over. As sleep wins, the over-the-top rock ballad pauses and the record screeches.

***

Dean taps the polished wooden table of the bar. As he waits for his third beer, he notices his hands are clean. He no longer has the calloused and filthy hands of the hard-working man he has always been. The man who worked on cars. The man who spent hours in a junkyard. The man sweating inside small mom and pop garages hoping to make enough money to pay rent that month. Dean glances at his hands once more before looking for the bartender. _A bitch at a desk but now I can pay ren_ t, Dean thinks.

Dean chugs the beer as soon as it arrives. The string keeping his head attached to him is cut. The slow sense of relief spreads through him. Three beers won’t get him drunk. But the volume of the voices in his head are turned down. _Work harder, Seth deservers more. Maybe you should cut and run. You’ll always be a low-life piece of shit._

“I know that look. Wanna talk?” Roman asks.  
Roman eases in the opposite side of the booth and slides him another beer with a warm smile.

Dean shrugs before taking a long gulp.  
“Fuckin’ work an’ shit,” Dean grumbles as he looks for the bartender. Already ready for the next one.

Roman laughs, “Yeah. It sums it up doesn’t it?”  
Dean smiles, some of the tension rolling off his shoulders.  
Both men simultaneously take a long drink from their mugs.  
“He needs me,” Dean offers up.

Roman nods as they finish their beers.  
The fourth always goes to Dean’s head the fastest.  
Dean rubs his neck, “I’m messed up Ro.”  
Roman’s voice lowers, “Hey you’re talking about my best friend bro. Best guy I know.”

Dean shrugs, “Fucker. Ready for more?”

Roman smirks, “Damn right.”

The keys shake in Deans oversized hand. Fumbling to find the right one, Dean wonders when the lock shrunk. _Shoudna switched to whiskey_ , he muses as the door squawks open announcing to the entire complex that he’s home.

The door to the guest room is cracked open. Another night of Seth listening to music until he passes out cold. There’s a slight tug in Dean’s chest as he enters the room. _With how much I work, why can’t I fuckin’ go out_ , Dean thinks. A soft whimpering sound replaces the static that brought him into the room originally. The vinyl player whines in the background. Dean tip-toes over, turns it off, and twists around facing Seth. Dean reaches out and tucks a few dark brown strands of hair behind Seth’s ears.

“So—sorry,” Dean slurs as Seth whimpers.

Dean inhales and scoops Seth up in his arms. He stumbles back momentarily and heads to their bedroom.  
“P-princess?” Dean breathes.  
Seth remains asleep in his arms.  
“I love you,” Dean says solemnly before he plants a sloppy kiss on Seth’s sweaty forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud guitar rift fills the empty intimate space. Seth moves closer to the stage. Each step a frantic spring of uncoordinated energy. His head swivels like a pendulum on his neck in time with the music. Shoulder length brunette hair hanging down to his shoulders swishing around his face. His limbs are loose. His face at ease. No worries. No sadness. No Roman.

He screams along to the lyrics. A song he suddenly hears vibrating in his bones. As the words drain out of him, he feels compelled to speak to the open space about Dean. Because it’s always about Dean. Everything centers around Dean; even in his sleep. No amount of subconscious traveling can disconnect him from Dean.

A new song begins. A draft drifts past Seth causing him to stop momentarily. He rubs at a row of goosebumps cropping up on his upper arm. Seth shakes his head and hears the lyrics fill him once again. His body sways as his eyes enter a trance-like state.

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t come with you either,” the stocky man says nodding his head along to the beat.  
Seth throws a shoulder up towards his ear, continuing to sway out of rhythm to the song.

“He doesn’t have time or whatever,” Seth mumbles as his eyes shut.

And in a voice clearer than the music blasting through the amplifiers, the man leans in and says, “I like being here with you.”

Seth opens his eyes. He’s knocked back by the pair of hazel eyes staring at him. As he smiles, a warm sensation travels through Seth like syrup in his veins. Seth floats away, sweet and sluggish.

***

_Food_ , Dean’s first thought. A typical morning of spitting Seth’s hair out of his mouth and searching for a bottle of Aspirin. These headaches are getting old. Shoving nails through his temples would probably feel better in the morning than these hangovers. Dean pats Seth on the head, knowing he’ll be jumping out of bed and trailing after him in under ten minutes.

He shoves aside some weird concoction, too healthy and Seth-prepared to be consumed this early. He digs around until settling the saran-wrapped dish of pancakes. _Perfect, if there’s any hint of a fight…this should keep him calm_ , Dean smirks to himself as he snatches the plate out of the fridge.  
Table is set. The napkins are tucked under the plates. The solid bright red ones with the tiny black polka dots around the top. Those are Seth’s favorite ones. He even managed to find a matching silverware set. Dean inwardly chuckled as he looks at one of the forks.

Pancakes are cooling off. There’s some hot coffee. _His full of sugar and mine black as coffee was fuckin’ intended_ , Dean thinks. He glances around realizing how quiet the morning has been. No poofy mane of hair bouncing into the kitchen. No nasally loud questions about what he was doing the night before. No big caramel eyes staring at him while he tries to wake the fuck up.

“Where the fuck?” Dean mutters, rubbing the last bit of the sleep from the corners of his eyes.

Dean taps his collarbone, moves to the hallway, and calls out for Seth. The name sticks to his tongue, caught between wanting to see Seth and worried about the potential and probable fight.

Seth eats his food with large saucer-like eyes fixed somewhere else. Dean notices Seth’s left foot tapping out a slow steady rhythm. He cocks an eyebrow, hoping to catch Seth’s attention. Yet Seth remains silent, nothing coming from him but eager chewing and toe-tapping.

“Mornin’,” Dean grumbles.

Seth acknowledges his breakfast more so than Dean.

Dean scrambles to correct the scene. To fit the pieces in the correlating slots. Nothing connects but that’s how it is lately. He doesn’t fix things. He breaks everything a little more with every attempt.

“I gotta go to work.”

Dean’s voice drags like a flat tire along the highway, tired and out of commission.

Seth nods and chews the last bite of his meal, a fir away look etched onto his face.

Dean’s fingers scratch at the leather steering wheel cover. He reaches over to turn off the radio. There’s already enough. His life nothing more than a mess of shit blinding him. He doesn’t need a stupid whiny song adding to it.

As the apartment complex fades into the background, Seth’s distant gaze lingers on Dean’s mind. _What would pull him away suddenly? What does he have going on that would even make him fuckin’ distant?_ Dean’s harsh laugh fills the black three-door truck.

“One day he’s all over me an’ next i’m nothin’,” Dean laughs again.  
This laugh shorter and harder, a forced action to make himself feel better.

“My day to get coffee, shit.” Dean sighs.

Dean snaps back to the freeway in front of him, swerving to catch the exit. Street signs blur and blend with the image of Seth this morning. The intensity of his worry for Seth begins to dissolve away. Drip, drip, drip. A slow drip, like how they make Roman’s coffee every morning at that snobby place he hates going to. He only has to do it twice a weekand he gets to stroll in half an hour late. So why the fuck not. Roman doesn’t mind doing favors for him either.

Three swift knocks. Then, Dean grants himself permission to walk into Roman’s office.  
“Got your coffee bro,” Dean says as he places the hot drink on Roman’s glass desk.  
Roman picks up his coffee and puts it on top of a cork coaster, “Good looking out.”  
Dean nods, a small smile spreading across his face, “No prob man.”  
Roman extends his large closed fist towards Dean, “Ready for a busy day?”  
“Fuckin’ always,” Dean smirks as he fists bumps Roman before leaving his office.


	3. Chapter 3

Some mornings the punch of the coffee isn’t enough. The blistering sour taste isn’t hitting Dean right in the jaw, right where he needs it. This is one of those mornings where he needs a smack to the face, or an IV bag of caffeine next to his desk.

His eyes are attached to fifty pound weights dragging them down to his cheeks. Through groggy blurred vision, he looks at the stacks of manila folders Roman left him. _Lucky bastard_ _out for a lunch meeting_ , Dean exhales while his fingers pound at the keyboard. Each letter representing a ‘fuck you I’d rather be anywhere else’. Or at least that’s what he hopes to vibrate into every keystroke as he transfers the handwritten information onto the program in front of him.

_Dean wipes the trailing bead of sweat dripping from the end of his dark blonde brow. The back of his palms replaces the sweat with a smudge of grease. A hunker of a car pulls up. A plume of smoke coughing up from the hood, as a worried kid shakes his head behind the steering wheel. Dean loves useless causes. Those little pieces of shit that probably won’t go another hundred miles. These are the challenges he loves to attempt to fix._

_Dean pats the top of the car as the driver shuts it off. A kid, no older looking than twenty, steps out and launches himself at Dean. A river of car woes flows out of his mouth and Dean misses most of it. He finds himself recklessly drinking in the image standing in front of him._

_This kid is all wrong. Douchebag glasses, a band t-shirt, and jeans that Dean doesn’t believe any person can actually walk in. He has to hold in the laugh bubbling in his throat. His hand twitches at his side as his eyes continue to roam, and the kid continues to ramble. Finally, he lands on the stupidest hair he’s ever seen. Two colors. Fuckin’ really? And he decides at once that he both wants to yank it and smell it. Anything to have his hands tangled in that stupid hair._

_“Can you fix it?” The kid ask with wide questioning eyes._

_Dean wonders how those eyes would look staring up at him. Fucker…_

_“Uh, yeah. I can,” Dean answers while pulling his gaze away from the kid’s long and lean body._

_“Think it’ll cost a lot?”_

_The kid’s nasally high-pitched voice rings in Dean’s ear, similar to the whining whirl of the machines he uses in the garage._

_Dean smirks, “I gotta assess it first,” and wipes a calloused greasy hand off on his jeans before extending it outwards. “I’m Dean.”_

_An overly tan hand tentatively grasps Dean’s, “Hi…I’m Seth.”_

_Dean shudders slightly and pulls away. “Yeah. Hi. I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.”_

_“Yeah cool,” Seth replies with a smile._

_Yeah. Cool. Fucker._

_Dean’s concentration is non-existent. His gaze keeps drifting back to the gray chairs lined up against the old brick wall. There that Seth kid sits. Too pretty. The fucker is too pretty. Where do people get off coming into this garage and demanding my attention like that? Dean flicks away a rivulet of sweat. He hunches further over the red Geo. Dean’s face felt as red as the car. Another glance over. His breath hitches. The Seth kid’s hair is a frizzled frame around his golden face. He wants to bury his face in that ridiculous looking mane. Dean closes his eyes and grounds himself. He doesn’t get wrapped up in this kind of bullshit. He grips the wrench and inhales. Work. There’s always work to do._

_“It’s done,” Dean says. His voice deeper, attempting to sound professional as he keeps his eyes on Seth’s shoulder._

_Seth perks up, “You fixed it?!”_

_Dean’s lips curl up, “Yeah…yes, I did.”  
Seth’s grin expands across his face, “Thanks! I really need that car. You have no idea how much you helped me out!”_

_Dean hands him a labor slip, trying to avoid physical contact._

_With a slight nod and even slighter smile, Dean replies, “Just pay the office. It was no trouble.”_

_He doesn’t want the Seth kid to go but he can’t do this shit again. He doesn’t even know what to do anymore._

_As Seth takes the bill, Dean feels a crumpled piece of paper slide into his hand.  
“Okay, um bye…Dean.”_

_Seth flashes him a brilliant smile, displaying rows of gleaming white teeth._

_The back of Dean’s neck grows warm. He rubs it awkwardly and shoves the paper in his pocket._

_“Yeah bye…” Dean weakly mumbles._

Dean places his head on the wood paneling of the front door. The coolness soothes his fevered forehead. After waking from his dream, he left the office only to spend almost two hours in traffic. The pace of the drive back home was similar to a brick wrapped up in a bedsheet being dragged across a carpet. Left him too much time to think. And thinking without a drink in his hand was Dean’s least favorite activity.

The living room feels foreign as he steps inside. There’s light streaming through the windows. He can’t remember the last time he was home this early. But he doesn’t need to keep track. Seth does a fancy fucking job of being his time clock. Even so, he can’t shake the feeling that everything looks off. Everything is shaded in a hue of unusual tones. The apartment hasn’t changed, yet it appears completely wrong.

Dean shrugs off an eerie shiver and heads into the kitchen. Lined up neatly along the bottom shelf of the fridge is a six-pack. _Fucker remembered even through his haze_ , Dean smiles and grips the neck as he closes the door. Heading into the living room, he searches for any visible signs of Seth. There’s the promise of a quiet night. The whispered chance of no fight. There’s hope for the company he’s looking for. Dean exhales, glancing down the hallway.

“Hey!”

Half a second later, Seth comes skipping around the hallway corner looking oblivious to his surroundings. To Dean being home. To Dean calling for him. To Dean needing him. It’s not like he’s wearing headphones. _Nope, Seth doesn’t seem to give a shit._ Dean restrains himself from grabbing the closest object and chucking it at the wall. The joy he’d get from watching something, anything, break into pieces. The shattered remains left everywhere. The sounds of pointless destruction. The look on Seth’s current blank stupid fucking face. He clenches his fist to ward off the desires. His knuckles fade from pink to a cotton white as he grabs himself, willing his anger to stay within. Willing all of these useless fucked emotions to stay within.

Before Seth crashes into Dean, he stops. His eyes flick up to meet Dean’s casually.

“Oh…hey.”

Seth’s voice is devoid of anything. Nothing for Dean to pick up on.

_Fucking robot._

Dean sucks in a hot breath of air through his teeth as his hand twitches by his side.  
“Right, hey…I’m home.”

Dean’s nails press into his palm.

Seth’s eyes glaze over, “Yeah. I see that.”

The fire inside of Dean demands to be unleashed.

“Hey. Uh, this morning,” Dean begins.  
Seth’s head cocks to the side, his eyes widen.  
“We had pancakes."  
The blood in Dean’s veins thicken, unable to move past his thoughts.  
 _How does he affect my thinking every fuckin’ time?  
_ “Nope. Well, yeah pancakes but I mean you. What’s goin’ on?”  
Seth blinks. Dean watches Seth’s eyes layer over with a filmy watery substance.  
“I—I don’t know what you mean?”  
His voice higher, reaching past the ceiling and into the stars.  
 _How do his eyes manage to get fuckin’ wider?_  
“You were distant an’ shit—“  
“ME! Are you calling me distant?! Are you serious! You’ve got some goddamn nerve!”  
Seth’s face is red now and the vein in his neck is bulging out.  
Dean wonders if Seth will really combust or if he should nibble on his neck right now.  
“What the fuck did you just say?” Dean snaps back.  
Seth sniffles, “You’re the distant one so shut the fuck up.”  
Dean taps his collarbone. He blinks an extra few times. He’s lost his place on the map. He doesn’t know where they’re headed but he’s sure he isn’t winning. Like usual.

A small hushing sound manages to escape through Dean’s straight line of a mouth.  
“Let’s eat. C’mon Princess. Don’t get all mad an’ shit.”

He reaches out to smooth down some of Seth’s fly-away hair.

Seth swats away Dean’s hand, all blacked out rage and hard edges.

Dean bites back the comment trying to shove through his teeth. Words that should never leave his lips and reach Seth’s ears.  
“I don’t wanna do anything with you. Fuck you,” Seth sneers.

With a self-satisfied smirk but tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, Seth turns his back to Dean and stomps out of the room. The verbal slap and cold exit is rough across Dean’s face. He would’ve preferred Seth hitting him. A real fist to the jaw. Dean can handle violence. But rejection, the idea of someone he loves not loving him back, is something he cannot stomach. The stomps are loud and signify the finality of their evening together. _Maybe going to the bar with Roman wouldna been such a bad fuckin’ idea._

The conference hall spreads out like the mouth of a canyon. Long rectangular tables line the walls, empty and unused for the night. Banners and streamers exploding from ceiling corners, above doors, and the spaces between windows. Swaying people crowd together in little circles holding various catered drinks and snacks. Music can be heard blasting over hidden speakers.

The scene splays out before him like a moving portrait trapped under a thick piece of glass. Squirming in watercolors. Vividly on display. Despite the heaviness, despite the pressure. The soft lines blur in front of Seth. Every time he’s here, he thinks if he could focus better maybe he could make all of this real.But no amount of trying fixes the truth: he can’t live this moment again.

There’s a breeze, a light draft. Seth runs his hand down the length of his arm.

“You and the music dreams,” a male voice mutters to him.  
Seth laughs, “I used to work in the industry.”  
There isn’t much of an acidic taste left behind anymore when he carts out this pre-approved statement. The sweet easy-to-swallow pill leaving no aftertaste in the mouth of the listener but it used to leave a lump in his throat.  
“It’s also where we met for our first date.”

As he says that, Seth’s face lights up. He begins to scan the room looking for a faded black leather jacket. He always loved the jacket Dean wore that night. The worn in sleeves eventually holding him. The comforting smell of week old cigarettes, Dean’s signature smell. _Before he quit for that last time_ , Seth corrects himself.

“Sethie quit missing things that don’t matter.”

His voice cuts through the chortle of the crowd. Slices through the music and it’s faint low-quality static. Yanks Seth’s attention towards it. And there he is again. The man with short bristly brown hair, a bulky frame, and piercing hazel eyes.

Seth’s eyes narrow, his lips a sharp pink line, “Why aren’t you Dean? Shut up and go away or he won’t show up!”

The man’s chest expands as he laughs and wags a tattooed finger at Seth, “That’s not how this works.”  
Seth pouts, “Whatever then! I’m gonna wake up.”

He sticks his tongue out at the offensive stranger interrupting his favorite place to be now.

The man rolls his eyes at Seth. Licking his lips deviously, “Fighting all night must be one of your kinks.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and likes so far. I am really enjoying the process of creating this story. I hope to have chapter five up within a couple of days! (:

Thin white bedsheets stick to Seth’s sweat soaked skin. He peels them off and stares at the speckled ceiling. Last night floats behind his sleep crusted bloodshot eyes. The finer details lost between those thin red branches that violently interrupt milky white seas. He rubs his eyes hoping to reach equilibrium faster.

 _Something about a fight but what was it about this time_ , Seth sighs trying to ignore the chill creeping through him. He tries to push back at the desire to pull the blankets back up to his chin and slip back into his safe sleepy world. The ease of living inside his dreams fuels Seth’s desire. _In my dreams Dean still loves me_ , Seth thinks. His full lips pout, a natural reaction to this sad early morning intrusion.

Seth holds his breath, attempting to break through the fog of last night’s events. His chin tucks into his shoulder, eyes softening. _Why do we always fight_ , he thinks as he looks at Dean’s face. Dean’s rounded cheeks, all of the hardened edges are smooth, giving him a serene expression. Seth traces a trimmed nail along Dean’s auburn facial hair. Seth always jokes that the fuzzy little hair brushing up along Dean’s cheeks makes him look like a friendly cartoon chipmunk.

As his nail continues to dance along Dean’s jawline, Dean starts to stir. Seth’s hand stills by Dean’s ear as he pulls himself closer. He skims a finger through Dean’s dirty blonde hair. Already, this is the most he’s felt of Dean in months. Seth’s lips curl up as Dean’s eyes open.

An exhausted expression in icy blue stares up at Seth.

“Hey,” Dean manages to grumble.

Seth giddily grins and practically sings, “Good morning!”  
Dean laughs, “ ’s early…”

Seth leans over desperate to bridge the distance between him and Dean on the king sized-bed. His hand slides from Dean’s hair back to his jaw, bringing their faces together. Seth smiles into the shy pecking of their lips. Dean’s arm slips around Seth’s bare waist. His hand rests on Seth’s lower back.

“I miss you,” Seth whispers against the feathery-light kisses.  
“I always do,” Dean murmurs catching Seth’s bottom lip between his.

Dean’s fingers splay out across Seth’s back. The tips of his fingers curve inward willing Seth’s body closer. But Seth doesn’t need it. He is a pliable substance under Dean’s influence, always has been. Seth reaches out his free hand and rest it above the waistband of Dean’s briefs. The heat of Dean’s skin teases him. The persistent pressure of Dean’s lips moving in sync with his own builds Seth’s need. The knowledge of Dean’s hardness pressing against him erases the questions, the fears, and the anger that swells inside of him as he falls asleep alone most nights. But he isn’t alone right now; he finally has Dean. Seth finds reassurance in the tangled mess of limbs that is his boyfriend’s love.

Seth’s tongue gingerly pokes out of his mouth. Dean parts his lips, allowing Seth’s tongue to slide in. The two deepen their kiss. Exploring each other with a slow eagerness that they haven’t shown in a while. Dean eases out of the kiss, breathing on Seth’s swollen lips. Seth whimpers at the loss.

“I love you,” Dean whispers.

Goosebumps prickle along Seth’s arms.  
Seth can’t contain his grin from widening as he replies, “I love you too.”

A warm sensation sweeps through Seth as he digs his fingernails in the flesh above Dean’s hip bones. Seth grinds his hips against Dean’s. A moan simultaneously rippling through the both of them. The older man buries himself in the crook of Seth’s neck. He sinks his teeth into the firm flesh sloping down from Seth’s neck to his shoulder. Seth feels the future bruise forming as his hand slips under Dean’s briefs.

Seth basks in the afterglow of Dean’s returned affections. He watches as Dean’s trim form slips through the doorway. Lightheaded and dizzy, a smile swims between Seth’s cheeks. Water drips onto the carpet of the bedroom as Dean tosses the public pool sized towel onto the floor. Captivated by exposed taunt stretched muscles, Seth says nothing about Dean ignoring the hamper two steps away.

The sound of the front door closing registers with one of Seth’s senses. But everything is relaxed. Calmed to a point of being frozen. He’s captured in a state in permanent bliss. He’s finally had some real time with Dean. Quality time that proves Dean does love him. It proves that Dean isn’t going to leave him. More so, there’s proof that Dean prefers him over Roman.

A light breeze blows across the bed. Seth’s body twitches as he adjust, getting up to change the room’s temperature. His fingers spread across the bed, searching for the edge of the sheet. If he can just pull the sweat-dampened fabric up, maybe he can squeeze the last bit of warmth from it.

Seth unexpectedly comes across something that isn’t his firm mattress. Isn’t a sheet. Definitely isn’t sweat soaked. It’s something hard. Something warm. Something surprisingly solid. His eyes blink out of the haze-riddled blissed state, settling back into reality.

“Sethie in the flesh. Don’t you just embody a real man?”

Seth’s mouth hangs open as he stares at the oddly familiar man laying on his back next to him. Occupying the same space Dean was in less than two hours ago. His hand crawls away from the man’s hand up to his chest. There’s a heartbeat, an actual rhythm inside of his chest. Seth can feel his own heart stammering inside his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to process all of this.

“I’ve told you before, it doesn’t work like that.”

Seth opens his brown eyes. His face demure and scared. The color draining from his cheeks. His breathing in stereo, an audible sound to both men.

“Am I dreaming?” Seth’s voice is feeble and quiet.  
The stocky man next to him laughs and replies, “Not this time.”  
Seth reaches out, shaking noticeably, “What…what is this?”

“What am I?” The man corrects with a knowing smirk.  
Seth nods as his dark brows furrow together, “How’re you here?”  
The man’s mouth opens but Seth interrupts, “Oh fuck! I’m dead!"  
A loud boisterous laugh, “Sethie! Sad he doesn’t see you the way I do. All that life still left in you.”

Seth bites his bottom lip. His stomach clenches.  
“I’m very real. I’m Kevin. I’ll be here in ways Dean isn’t and won’t be. No matter what you believe.”

Seth exhales a hard puff of air, “I’m…oh yeah. And you don’t know anything about my relationship with Dean.”  
His voice is full of desperation and a hint of shame.

“I know things you’ll never know. Some of those things I might want to share with you,” Kevin says with a wink.  
Seth cocks his head at this intruder. This concoction from his mind. Those hazel eyes that seem to tear into his soul.  
“Am I crazy?” Seth asks, his voice almost a whisper.  
Kevin shakes his head, “Reality. Sanity. Everything is only what we make of it.”  
There’s a deep line across the middle of Seth’s forehead, “What are you?”  
“I’m whatever you want me to be.”  
The smile on Kevin’s face expands, his teeth a shade too white.  
Seth looks down and notices his state of undress. A blush creeps along his cheeks and spreads to his neck.  
“I need you to…uh maybe go? I’m—“  
“It’s nothing I haven’t already seen,” Kevin dismisses Seth with a wave of his hand and vanishes.

Seth stares at the spot where both Dean and this Kevin laid. A dry lump grows in his throat, heavy as if he had swallowed a molten lava ball. His body remains plastered to the sheets. Seth sits in the silence until he decides that maybe he wouldn’t mind speaking to that thing again. _Whatever he is…he might not be the worst thing that’s happened to me recently_ , Seth concludes. And with an ensnarled web of strange thoughts, Seth hums to himself as he obeys his growling stomach and heads to the kitchen.


End file.
